Homeward Bound
by BesserwisserForHire
Summary: Dean and Sam die and go to Heaven for the final time. Which isn't all that bad, but it could stand to be a lot better if he knew where Castiel was and if that creepy guy who sells daisies sometimes would stop stalking them. / Post series, oneshot, mild Destiel.


He prays every night. If there is such a thing in this place. If time even exists as he knows it, moving steadily and evenly at the same, broken old pace over and over and over. Morning morphing into day which eventually shifts into night, and the cycle repeats itself. Probably not.

Heaven is a road and every pit stop is a stolen moment. He knows this already. They've been around this block before. Dean knew even before he shuddered a last breath, before his eyes turned to Sam and before that one, broken little moment of silence that said everything.

''_Sam_''

The moment felt vast and endless and impossible, unpermitted and long overdue. The world faded into a background buzz of screams and smoke and damnation, and his soul rippedd out of its body as if in the hands of a greedy child. Heaven, Hell, any place at all had wanted to claim him. Had done so, on occassion. But Dean always slipped through their grasp.

Not this time, buddy.

''_Dean''_

There are no douchebag seraphim hunting them down. No balding six winged dick breathing down his neck and twisting the memories of the only things in life worth remembering. There is no hunt, no running. Only a strange, cold weight that settles over him and breathes through his lungs. This is calm and everything Dean has never really known. It itches under his skin and spreads, blankets over his soul and tells him to stop fighting. He got his reward. This is his peace. The payoff after all the hard work.

Sam looks at him through a broken smile and settles into the passenger seat. For the first time, he breathes.

So they drive.

The road is long and wide, disappearing so far away it blurs together with the horizon. Colours and odd shapes promising new adventures and grand seights. Everything a roadtrip should be. The car never runs out of gas, but they stop sometimes, anyway. The first roadside diner is just as filthy and greasy as he remembers them to be. The lady behind the register is old and saggy, skin unfit with her flesh, and she smiles at them like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment. Her breath smells of cigarettes and the coffee she hands them is thicker than tar.

It's just like it should be.

They keep driving, keep making stops at places like these. Sometimes they stop by the side of a memory, watching old, lost days replay on a feedback loop and Sam will say something deep and profound, because that's his kid brother for ya. Dean is surprised they sell beer in Heaven but then again, this is _their_ heaven, so why not.

The radio plays all his favourite songs, and the reception is much better than it could ever have been on Earth. Sometimes the radio will flicker, a wave of static reaching through and for that small moment, Dean stops breathing. But it always passes. The guitar riffs picking back up and the only voice reaching through to them being that of an old, drug riddled singer past his glory days, but with a voice like when they were young.

They drive through years worth of good memories, and Dean is surprised there were these many. They had a lot of good going for them, more than they really stopped to realize. Maybe it's just fitting that he only comes around to this fact now, when it's already too late.

Maybe his curse was always that he'd never know what he had until it was gone. Sam stays optimistic, though, because he still has faith in this place. A place which seems less breathtaking, less aweinspiring and clean, now when he knows what goes on behind all the cogs and gears. When he knows just what this machine runs on.

They arrive at a crossroads one 'day'. To the right they can see fireworks off in the distance, exploding against the deep velvet of a new year's sky. The left is bright, blinding, searing white and without even asking Dean slams on the breaks and turns left. Sam says nothing. He's a good brother, like that.

The white light is nothing but a bright moning sun rising. Nothing but a porch and an old drunk – except he's sober, and he's shaved, and Dean can see his hair because that awful trucker cap is nowhere to be seen. To his side is a woman, kind and gentle and soft and dressed in a yellow, floral summer dress. They're speaking and murmuring in hush hush lovers' tones, and the sun has never seemed this bright.

Dean looks at his brother, whose eyebrows slowly climb up his face. This is new.

He shuts the car off and steps out. Sam is close behind and even as they approach the house, here in the safest of places, in this holiest of sanctuaries; where every regretful soul finds peace, the two brothers can't help but twist into defensive positions. Muscles tight and twitching, hearts racing, eyes preceptive and ears honing in on every sound close by.

Bobby looks at them like he's seeing them for the very first time.

''What the Hell – ''

''Boys'' Karen smiles as if she knows. ''Hello''

Sam looks at Dean but Dean has no freaking _clue_, so he just shakes his head, mouth slack and tries to think of what to do. Bobby gets to his feet and doesn't stop staring.

''I don't remember you being part of my good memories''

The boys smile.

''So that_ is _you'' Sam says and Bobby looks torn.

''Figures if anyone'll know how to barge in on other peoples' _pirvate moments _and ruin 'em, it'd be you idjits'' But he smiles.

''Man, it's good to see you.''

Dean doesn't notice moving, but in four long strides he's climbed the porch and pulled Bobby into a hug, not caring if the old grump wants it or not. Bobby blinks a little in surprise, then indecisiveness, hands hovering awkwardly before he pats him on the back, clearing his throat.

''Alright, boy, get off''

Dean can't help his big dumb grin when he eventually does. Bobby doesn't seem to mind. When Sam joins his side on the porch, Bobby gives him a prehensive look-over.

''You gonna hug me too_oof—''_

Sam wraps his long arms around the older man, a small, echoing laugh escaping his throat. He withdraws before Bobby has time to growl at him and just gives him a look of relief.

''So this is your Heaven, huh?'' Dean turns around for a better look, the house looking neater, the paint not flaking in odd corners and the yard around them green and alive. ''No offense, Bobby, but any Heaven without pie might as well be – ''

Karen hands him a plate. He blinks at her for only a second, before accepting the plate and the fork with an appreciative tug of his lips. Of course there's pie.

They don't know how much time they spend there, but Karen has made the most delicious apple pie and she won't let them leave without a taste of it. She goes to fetch a chair, but Sam beats her to it. Dean sits on the porch railing, despite Bobby's protests, eating the pie and looking out at the land. Just yards and endless patches of green fields and an eternal sunrise. It's so peaceful it hurts.

''So we can travel through Heavens, huh'' Sam says as they're back on the road.

They'd been silent since saying goodbye. The goodbye had been bad enough, even with knowing they cold return. Because Dean never took anything for granted, and as he's driving he's wondering if it was just a fluke, or if the road will still be there next time they pass.

Dean shrugs and turns up the volume of the radio, only slightly sighing when _Knocking On Heaven's Door _plays for the umpteenth time.

''Man, who' the DJ in this place?'' he mumbles, absentmindedly.

Sam doesn't say anything about the evasion.

* * *

He keeps praying. They don't need to sleep here but sometimes Dean'll catch a wink just because he has that luxury now. One of the first things they do is check into a motel, and Dean goes out and gathers every god damn pie he can think of, and he spends the entire stay there eating all of them, and sleeping it off just because he can.

Sam sleeps too, occassionally. Sighs at the wonder of no more headaches, absentmindedly touching his forehead sometimes, rubbing his temples more like an old reflex than an action born of need. They will drive through tall woods, every now and then, and Sam will lean his head against the window and drift.

Dean prays whenever Sam isn't there. When Sam's in a convenience store buying candy or a by-the-road-stand of totally genuine Sioux jewelry and geeking out. When Sam's wandering around a good memory, or playing fetch with Bones.

Dean will pray.

If he only prays hard enough, maybe, maybe he'll be answered.

The hope diminishes by each passed motel. Each visited diner and each run through memory. They arrive at many crossroads, visiting many people, and though neither of them speaks a word about it, they both keep looking. Dean thinks maybe praying doesn't work when you're already dead, but that'd be kind of stupid because he's in Heaven, which should be like, a huge conductor of faith or something.

Then he thinks maybe his prayers are heard but no one cares to answer. But that's stupid. So he discards that thought. Of course he'd answer.

Then his bones get restless and his jaws grit tight; maybe his prayers aren't answered because there's no one to hear them. He hates that thought most of all and prays extra hard the next time around.

_This is your problem, Dean, you have no faith._

Yeah, well. Throw a guy a bone.

* * *

Dean cracks eventually. Sometime after his prayers stop being actual sentences and more or less just one name repeated over and over because it's all he can think to say. Hoping it will convey everything because he's run out of words. Run out of patience and the cold, leaded feeling under his skin gets heavier.

''Where do you think they go?'' he says. ''When they die. The angels, I mean.''

Sam gives him a weird look he doesn't feel like meeting and he knows what he 's going to say before he opens his mouth.

''Is this about Cas?''

Dean dares a sideward glance before he huffs.

''No, I just... Why'd it be about _Cas_? Man, I'm just wondering. I mean we've seen a bunch of them kick the bucket, but where do they go?''

''There weren't any in Purgatory?''

''Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention, I ran into Zachariah in Purgatory, you remember Zachariah? Huge douchebag _archangel_ who wants me dead?'' He rolls his eyes. ''No, I didn't see any angels there, man. Don't you think I'd have mentioned that?''

Sam puts his hands up in a gesture of peace.

''Woah, easy there.''

Dean huffs again and focuses on the road, gripping the wheel just a little harder. Sam looks at his whitening knuckles, at his irritated frown and his face does that _thing _again when it just morhps into a grimace of touchy feely understanding that Dean doesn't need and especially doesn't want.

''Dean'' he says, soft and understanding and all there for him.

Dean glares at the road like this is all it's fault.

''Forget it''

Sam makes a small laugh, but not a mirthful one, as much as sarcastic, _yeah, right, Dean. Like I can't see through you by this point._

''I don't know, man'' Sam leans back in his seat and looks like he's giving it proper consideration. ''Angels aren't exactly like other creatures. I guess it really depends on whether they can have souls or not.''

Dean sighs.

''I guess.''

They don't talk more about it, but Dean notices Sam keeps an extra attentive stare around them as they drive.

* * *

Dean doesn't know how he knows that this guy's an angel. But he knows.

It might be his self-righteous smirk, like he can't get over how pleased he is with himself, or how utterly strange the movements of his facial muscles are. Like he's trying the body out and isn't sure how to maneuver it just yet. Like there's a bristling, buzzing static under his skin. An energy so large it cannot possibly be contained, and it seeps out into a cloud of raw power that tugs at Dean's own soul. He gives the guy a rancid, unimpressed look and hopes he'll get the point. The guy just smirks.

''Hello'' he says with a voice that makes Dean's mouth taste of bile. ''How may I assist you?''

Dean gives the stand a look, Sam still in the diner behind it paying for their coffee. He'd seen this guy before. In bars while hustling pool, glancing at them from a corner table. At gas stations tanking a rusted old piece of crap Mustang even though, for all the time they've been driving, he's never met another car on the road. Sometimes the guy's just there. Hitchhiking or selling flowers like some extra in a movie. Sam seems oblivious and Dean isn't sure whether he's gonna have to run for his life again or if this guy's just some Peeping Tom. Either case his fists ball in preparation, his stance widening slightly. The guy doesn't seem malevolent, but most monsters never did.

''Alright, what's your game?''

The man shrugs like he's got no god damn clue at all.

''I sell maps. Notice the sign?'' He points up at the wooden sign towering above them. All casual and non threatening and _polite_. Dean feels sick.

''Yeah, this time it's maps. Last time it was frickin' daisies. What's it gonna be next time? Car fresheners? Huh? You got some sweet smelling strawberry fresheners in your trunk?''

The man chuckles.

''Dean, there is no need to be angry with me.''

Dean feels his entire body go rigid.

''Who the hell are you?''

''Relax, Dean. I have not come to harm you or your brother.'' He picks a map off the stand and holds it out to him, like a peace offering. Dean swats it away.

''Yeah, well, I don't trust your kind. So tell me, what's the real game here? Huh?''

If Dean's voice gets a little rougher, a little more like a growl, an animal's threating rumble the man doesn't take notice. Or perhaps he does but simply fails to be intimidated by a man, however Righteous he may once have been.

''I told you, Dean. I sell maps.''

Dean's eyes narrow and he jabs a threatening finger at his chest. The second of contact sends a violent spark through his skin, and it leaves a burnt taste in his mouth.

''You stay the hell away from me or I swear... I've ganked your brothers before, I can gank you too.''

The man chuckles again.

''Of course''

He remains calm and smiling and friendly and Dean briefly wonders if punching an angel in Heaven would hurt as much as punching one on Earth. He recalls the times Cas' face nearly crushed his bones and keeps his hands still, if yet fisted.

''Dean?'' Sam arrives outside with a little jingle of the door's bell, looking at Dean questioningly, eyebrows raised and long arms clutching a doggy bag.

Dean glances at his brother, gives Peeping Tom one last rotten glare and walks away.

''Hey, Sammy'' He calls out. ''What you got there?''

Sam sees the tension in his brother's body, the twitching of his face and the hard shield that has slid across his eyes. Something dark and defensive and possessive. When he looks past Dean's shoulder, the parking lot is empty.

''Is everything alright?''

Dean snatches the bag from him. Sam doesn't protest.

''Uh, no. No, everything's...'' He inspects the contents of the bag before handing it back to his brother, glancing over his own shoulder. When he sees the map stand and the smug bastard behind it are gone, thin air, he swallows. ''Sam I think we're being watched.''

Sam frowns.

''Watched?''

''Yeah. I don't know. Might be nothing.''

''Dean'' He arches his eyebrows and looks dubiously at him. ''When has it _ever_ been nothing?''

''Yeah. Probably right.''

He'd just hoped Heaven would be different, what with their 'final reward' and 'eternal peace' and all. But then again, nothing's ever that easy for a Winchester.

* * *

''So this guy, uh …''

''Peeping Tom.''

''Sure. Tom. Whatever. He's been following us around?''

''Pretty much.''

Sam's lower lip protrudes in a thougthful, _well huh _gesture as he nods his head despite having no idea what's going on at all.

''Alright'' He shifts to go through the bag on the floor, taking out his laptop and turning it on.

''Dude, they have wifi in Heaven?''

''Ash hooked me up, I don't know what exactly it accesses but there's this _huge_ database of knowledge, it's almost like he's recorded the angel's … brains? If that makes sense?''

''Dude, nothing in this place makes any sense.''

Dean turns onto a smaller road. It's made of dirt and filled with holes and all around them are large, yellow fields of bright flowers. It's for the change of scenery, he tells himself, but it's not the whole truth.

''Man, I thought this place would be peaceful, you know? Like we'd get to spend eternity just kicking back with good memories and fun, crazy times. None of this angel crap or being god damn _tailed.''_

Sam gives him a look of sympathy.

''Maybe he's a guardian angel, or something?''

''Or a Heavenly piccolo''

Sam rolls his eyes and returns to the computer, tapping away like nothing ever changed. Sometimes Dean can squint, and it'll seem just like Earth. Except it's not. There's no danger, no worries, no demands or prophecies. It _is_ peaceful, and it's all they ever wanted. But something feels wrong. Or maybe not wrong, but off. Out of synch. Like he's missing a piece of the machine.

''So Ash hear anything over the grape vine?''

Sam takes the question for what it really is, but responds like he can't see right through him. Dean will always be grateful for that.

''No. Just the regular whispers and schemes and hushes. Apparently Heaven is behind Brangelina.''

Dean is seriously impressed.

''Really?''

''Yeah.''

''Huh.'' He nods. ''Well, I'll be damned.''

Sam grimaces but doesn't comment. They ride in silence for a while, the radio down to a low hum and he can barely make out the basic rhythm of the song. After finding nothing of interest on the – whatever the hell he's hooked up to – he shuts the laptop down and sighs.

''Dean, we'll find him.''

Dean fixes his eyes out the window and doesn't say a word.

* * *

There's a Grand Canyon in Heaven and they don't waste a second. Going there, it's really beyond words how cool it is, and Sam keeps going on about the wonders of nature and Earth. Dean doesn't mention this isn't Earth at all but an over-glorified copy, because Sam is extactic. Nerding out, telling Dean all kinds of things about the place and though he doesn't really follow, he listens, and smiles. Genuinly, for once.

There are no annoying tourists, no tasteless t-shirt stands or buzzing traffic. He parks the Impala just a bit away from the very edge and they spend what feels like hours there, drinking beer and just looking. The world could be so beautiful, when you take away the clutter.

Dean drinks because it's the best damn beer he's ever had, not because there's a cold, black vacuum inside him that he needs to numb. They talk and they joke, and Sam even glues his hand to the beer bottle – starting what would later become the greatest and messiest of Winchester prank battles. It's almost unsettling how easy it is to fall back into old habits. At the same time it's the hardest damn thing Dean's ever had to do. But it's worth it, so he'll try.

Heaven's a strange place, a collection of good memories and wonderful dreams. But it seems to be a place to make new memories, too. Which is good otherwise Dean'd be bored out of his skull. Sam is talking about spirits and folk tales regarding the canyon and he knows Dean isn't listening, but doesn't seem to mind.

Dean asks at some point whether or not he thinks there's a Disney land there and Sam says that if so, he'd really love to go.

* * *

At some point they actually get freaking _lost_ because apparently that's a thing in Heaven, and Sam makes some smartass _as it is in Heaven_ comment that Dean ignores with practiced ease but the fact still stands that they're lost and can't seem to be getting anywhere. Dean wonders why the hell God would like stupid signs and roads that look exactly the same, and what's next, a traffic jam, and keeps muttering and whining all the way through.

They reach a large mansion in the distance and Dean is momentarily confused because he has no idea why there'd be a mansion in their heaven and wonders with slight excitement if it's teenage Dean's dream of running the Playboy Mansion.

Maybe this isn't their heaven anymore, but nevertheless he drives up the ridicoulously long road leading to the gates. The road behind them has disappeared into a big mess of trees and one thing he hates about this place is that the roads seem to have a life of their own. If you turn left at a diner one time, the next time you see the very same diner it might as well be put in a cul-de-sac, and Dean still can't fucking believe they've gotten _lost_ in _Heaven_ like the biggest idiots known to man.

''Hey, big shot!''

The large, intricately decorated gates are adorned with the very much unhelpful letter '_B'_ . Dean honks impatiently while Sam shrinks down his seat because he cannot possibly be seen with his embarrassing neanderthal of a brother right now.

''_Dude_'' Sam hisses. ''You don't know who lives here!''

''Relax, Sam. We might meet Hugh.'' He honks a little louder and Sam isn't sure if it's to spite him or not. ''Yoohoo! Anyone there?''

''Dude, there's a _B_ on the gates, I don't think that stands for Hugh.''

''So what?'' Dean smirks. ''It might stand for _bunny_.''

''What if it's someone, you know, important?''

''Sam, it's not like freakin' Jesus lives here, so chill, okay? I'm just gonna take a look.''

Sam slides further down the seat and Dean sticks his body further out the window, yelling louder when the gates suddenly snap open. Slowly, like in a scary movie, and with the same whining sound, they slide apart enough for their car to fit through. The two brothers exchange a look, Sam shaking his head wildly in objection but Dean just snickers triumphantly and gets back behind the wheel.

''This is a bad idea'' Sam whispers but is effortlessly ignored.

His brother's still looking pleased with himself when they stop in front of the mansion, close enough now to feel that same buzzing he'd felt from Peeping Tom rise, like fumes, from the mansion's white walls. It smells like sex and booze and _fun _and Dean wonders if maybe the big guy doesn't have a big plan for everything after all.

''Sweet, there's a party going on''

Sam groans but is drowned out by the steady beat of techno music thudding through the open windows.

''Come on, Barbie! Let's go party!''

Dean slaps his brother on the shoulder and gets out.

''I'm not even going to ask how you know that song''

Though reluctant and face completely in bitch mode, he follows his brother to the front doors – which are mighty impressive on their own – and doesn't say anything as Dean knocks. They hear movements from inside and Dean's smile grows wider, only to falter when the doors finally open.

''Be right back, darlin'!'' The host himself shouts over his shoulder with a smile, before swaying back towards them, still smiling from ear to ear like he doesn't even recognize them.

Sam and Dean just stare openmouthed at him. Not until it's gotten extremely awkward does something click in the man's eyes, and his smile becomes almost sinister.

''My, my, my. The bumbling brothers made it to Heaven?'' Balthazar chuckles. His breath hits them like one pure cloud of alcohol and Sam has to recoil a bit at it. ''Wait,t his isn't – this is _my_ Heaven. I don't remember inviting you.''

They fail to find the words for a moment, still staring dumbly at him until Dean manages to cough up a sentence.

''You're not Hefner''

Balthazar tilts his head to shoot him a condescending look.

''How perceptive of you.''

''We got lost.'' Sam says.

''Lost like lost on the road to Hell or lost like..?''

''Like lost. On the road. Here. We were… driving and uh… your mansion…''

''Dude, you have a _mansion_?'' Dean interjects. ''How is that fair? Guy averts the freaking apocalypse and can't get a decent mansion but the douchebag thieving angel does?''

''It's my Happily Ever After.'' Balthazar winks. ''Wait 'til you see the inside.''

''No thanks'' Dean takes a step back.

''Are you sure? Come on, Dean, live a little!''

''Funny, seeing I'm dead.''

Balthazar snorts.

''You boys. I should smite you for getting me killed in the first place.''

''_We_ got you killed?''

''But hey, I got twenty young pretties inside and fondue and rosé to last me an eternity, so. Things worked out.'' He pats Dean on the back and seems extremely pleased with the way he recoils from the touch. ''No hard feelings, right?''

Dean looks to the Heavens like a man who needs all the strength he can get, as if asking _really, God? Really?_. Sam tries to smile but it looks like he's swallowing buttons.

To ease the tension, Balthazar extends a glass that literally came out of nowhere. ''Sherry?''

''No thanks''

''Wait a minute'' Dean waves his hand. ''This is _your_ Heaven?''

''Really, Dean, it's a good thing you're pretty.''

''Hey, you listen to me, you smug son of a bitch –''

''Dean, Dean, Dean'' Balthazar wags a finger at him. ''Ease up, you're bringing the party down. Now if you'd stop threatening people maybe they'd be more compliant with you.''

Dean glares so hard the angel fears his eyes are going to pop out of his skull. Despite the occular death threats, Balthazar takes pity on him.

''I dunno 'bout other angels, but I've got no complaints.'' He stirs his martini, teething the olive off the toothpick before throwing back the whole glass. Chewing contently, he speaks again. ''Now what are you _really_ asking me?''

Dean's glare intensifies, narrowing like he could think of a million places to shove that glass. Then Balthazar's eyes clear up, like he's been rattled awake. Dean didn't think it was possible, but he looks even more smug than just seconds ago.

''You're looking for Cas.''

Dean doesn't answer but he doesn't have to because his silence is answer enough.

''Sorry, love'' Balthazar looks genuinly apologetic. ''I haven't seen your boyfriend.''

Dean swallows down what feels like several handfuls of sand; his throat gone inexplicably dry and all thoughts of murdering the man in front of him doubling.

''Listen, why don't you come inside? Maybe someone knows something. I haven't heard anything about Cassie so I assumed you three idiots were still running around saving the world.''

Sam steps forward the moment Dean looks like he might take his chances and punch the angel anyway.

''Thank you'' he says, all peace makey and gives Dean a look that tells him to step inside.

Well indoors, the techno music is beating loud like a fist to their eardrums, reverberating through their bones and up into their hearts, giving it a good shake along with the movements of the bass. People, beautiful people are moving all around the place to form a big school of shimmer and glitter. They remind him of fish under the water, of fishing and bridges and jetties and calm autumn mornings in a creaking folding chair with its yellow fabric faded by the sun.

''Are all these people real?''

Balthazar shrugs.

''Most of them, yes. Some I believe are just memories, but good memories nonetheless.''

A blond woman in a particularly revealing dress slides past, hand grazing Balthazar's shoulder, whispering something in his ear she flicks Sam and Dean a telling smile. Like a smooth wave, she slides away again.

''Have a look around. Someone must have heard something'' He winks at Dean. ''Just go easy on the canapés, will you?''

He smirks at the offended, flustered look on Dean's face and slides away before insults can be thrown at him, merging with the crowd before disappearing altogether. Dean clenches his jaws to keep calm. Sam gives him a sympathetic look.

''That dude's a serious a-hole'' Dean growls.

''Come on'' Sam pats him on the shoulder. ''Let's mingle.''

''This music is crap''

Sam doesn't respond to Dean's growling and muttering under his breath, but rather let's him have at it, and doesn't say a thing when Dean finds a table of snacks and shoves an unnecessarily large portion into his pockets. Revenge _is _best served cold, Dean thinks.

It's hard to tell which people are real, and which ones aren't. Some remind Dean an awful lot of people he's seen in porn movies, and he can't decide if he's happy or sad about that. Sam takes him aside to hiss excitedly about seeing Marilyn Monroe in a corner, to which Dean gives an appreciative smile and a nod. They slide around, mingling ,talking, asking people if they've seen a guy – about yay high, blue eyes and an awkward demeanor – but people just smile apologetically and shake their heads no.

Dean tries not to acknowledge the rising feeling of panic, of disappointment and urgency. Like they're running out of time; missing people statistics rambling through his head he shoves a shrimp into his mouth to silence the thoughts, grabs a glass of fruity alcohol and keeps moving. This is a job, he reminds himself. It's a job and he's going to follow through with it even when the trails run cold.

''I didn't know this party had _clowns_''

Before he turns around Dean knows his face has soured.

''The hell are you doing here?'' he growls, but it's not all spite and illwill.

Gabriel smirks, one pretty girl under each arm and something that looks like chocolate staining his collar.

''Being dead, mostly.'' Gabriel smirks wider at Dean's withering glare. ''I heard you're looking for your angel pal''

''You seen him?'' If Dean sounds just a tad more alert, Gabriel is graceful enough not to mention it.

''Nah, but…'' He nods his head to the right, the girls giggling and caressing. ''I think that guy over there might've.''

Dean looks to the side, but sees only the back of a guy standing by himself, nodding at people in passing, hands in his pockets.

''Another one of you feathery douchebags?''

''Might be.''

''Great.'' Dean runs a hand through his hair and sighs tiredly. ''Just what I need''

''Old Jerjer is pretty mellow.''At the doubtful look on Dean's face, Gabriel adds ''No smitings, I promise. You can say he keeps an eye on things''

Dean mutters a half sincere thanks and slides off, not wanting to be around the giggling and the stroking and the general air of _bad bad bad_ surrounding the archangel. He squirms through the people, reaching over to Old Jerjer in long, determined strides and taps him on the shoulder. Dean has his third unpleasant surprise this night when the guy turns around and smiles.

''Dean''

''_Tom_?''

Peeping Tom's face tightens minimally.

''My name is not Tom.''

''Whatever, man.'' Dean's stomach goes cold. ''You know where Cas is?''

Not-Tom nods, regarding Dean's face thoughtfully, smile widening ever so slightly before flickering and fading away.

''I have been keeping an eye on him, yes.''

Dean takes a threatening step closer without thinking. A sheer, defensive reflex while at the same time keeping a good enough distance. There's just something about the guy who makes him very disinclined to touch him.

''What the hell is that supposed to mean?''

''Now, now, Dean'' Not-Tom shakes his head with a sigh and an eyeroll that looks almost adolescent. ''You needn't be so mistrusting of me. I am merely a passive spectator.''

''Really now?''

''Such is my task that has been handed to me by the Lord.''

''That's _great_'' Dean's voice drips cold and wet with distaste. ''Stalking part of the job description?''

''I think of it more as keeping… tabs, as you say.''

''Why?''

Not-Tom shifts.

''Sometimes people wander, sometimes they go astray. I watch and make sure we know where they go. Just like I have been watching you.''

''Why?''

''Because the Lord –''

''Man, don't give me that bullshit.''

''I am merely doing what my orders ask of me'' He puts his hands up but it fails to pacify the human. ''We were concerned with how you settled into Heaven, and…''

As he trails off and doesn't show any signs of continuing, Dean's voice slips into that low growl again.

''Listen, pal, you know where Cas is or not?''

''Oh, I know.''

''_And_?''

''And I advise you to keep praying.'' He leans in, whispers in Dean's ear with a hand that feels cold against his arm. ''He is so very close now. He just needs a little more faith from you, Dean. That's all. Just a little more.''

Dean's face tightens and he's not sure what to do, how to move. If he wants to punch the smug son of a bitch or punch himself to keep his thoughts from reeling.

''Have faith, Dean.''

Before he can make a decision, Not-Tom has disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Heaven is a weird fucking place. Coming from a guy who's faced Satan and microwaved fairies, Dean thinks he's got a pretty good grasp of crazy. Mountain goats? Pretty far out there.

''Dude, why would you put _mountain goats _in freaking paradise? What the hell is this? There a zoo around? There a Zoo of Eden I'm missing?''

Sam rolls his eyes back in the car.

''Hey! Groovy hooves!'' Dean honks the horn, body halfway out the window but the goats are unperturbed. They shoot him only a mild look of boredom before proceeding with wasting Dean's time and blocking the road. ''Go away!''

''Dean, just let them go in their own pace.''

''Yeah, I would if that pace wasn't zero-to-_nothing''_

''Just get back into the car, man''

Dean mutters and swears under his breath but slides back inside. Slumping down in his seat, he drums his fingers against the steering wheel and glares at the goats like the worst pack of demons he ever laid eyes on. Sam shakes his head and returns to his computer.

''Dude, how can you be so calm? Frickin' goats blocking the frickin' road! This is _dumb_''

''Dean, we're dead. Okay? We've got all the time in the world. Literally. What's a few goats gonna do?''

''They're in my way! And – hey hey, get away from the car, you bastards!'' Dean is stretching out the window again, flailing uselessly in the general direction of one goat that has taken a new interest in the left side headlight.

It flexes its ears, sniffing curiously at the hood and all Dean's flailing is accomplishing is a sideway glance Dean will swear up and down for eternity is a goat version of the bitchface.

''Gimme the skittles'' He flexes his hand towards his brother. When all Sam does is stare at it, he barks ''_Skittles,_ Sammy!''

Sam sighs but obeys. As soon as the plastic bag is in his hand, Dean rips it open with his teeth and proceeds to throw the brightly colored candies at the goat. For all his aiming training as a kid, he manages to hit nothing but the road.

''God damn it''

''Dean, it's not going to let itself be intimidated by you. Or your candy. Just... get inside.''

''Nah, man, I just need bigger ammunition.''

''You're hopeless, you know that?''

Dean ignores the judging look and starts rummaging through the glove compartment, tearing out old CDs and empty wrappers, receipts and falsified legal documents, car registrations, any kind of random crap that had been there on Earth. When finally finding something heavy in the dark space, he gives his brother a satisfied grin.

''This ougtha do it''

Sam remains unimpressed and silent.

''Alright, you stupid goats, this is your last warning! Step away from the car!'' Back outside the window again, he shoots the animals the dirtiest, meanest glare he has. He is unsurprised when all they do is continue to ignore him. ''Alright, you sons of bitches. You wanna play ball?''

He lights the fuse on the flare in his hand. ''Let's play some _ball_''

''Dean? Dean is that a – Dean, what are you doing?!''

Sam is all up in his face, flailing his monstruous spaghetti arms to grab the flare out of Dean's hand, who is doing his best to evade him. The rolled down window digs into his ribs painfully, and it's getting hard to breathe because the window was not made for two grown men to fit through. The flare burns a bright, vibrant red and hisses loudly in their ears, smoke streaming in through the window.

''Sammy, let go, you're gonna mess up the interior!''

''I will not let you throw a _flare_ at the goats, Dean! Let go of it!''

''Bite me!''

Dean manages to get a hand in Sam's face, pushing him back into the car and gaining enough room to move. He swings his arm back and hurls the flare off into the middle of the herd, smile big enough to strain his skin. Dean laughs at the mountain goats like a man who just won the world, but the laugh quickly dies when the goats start to panic.

''Oh shit''

''I told you not to throw the flare at the goats, Dean''

''Shut up'' Dean's face has morphed into one of slight panic and he is quick to get back behind the wheel, backpedaling out of there before the goats can go all Night of Vengeance on his ass.

They're dispersing alright, but not in the coordinated chaos he had hoped for. Rather, they go anywhere, everywhere at once, knocking into each other and screaming their awful, high pitched goat screams. A pair of horns bump into the front of the car and Dean plays with the thought of running the animal over, but Sam's very disapproving glare makes him settle for just backing the hell out of there.

''Sam, they're messing up my car!''

Sam, arms crossed and self-righteous grimace all in place just nods at him.

''You brought this upon yourself Dean. You upset the goats.''

''_Sammy_!''

Sam shakes his head and Dean knows he's on his own. He doesn't have a lot of time to think about this betrayal when more goats start ramming into the car, leaving dents and horrible, horrible scratches in the metal. They are surprisingly belligerent, as if the car is a giant monster out to eat their young, and the flare was its fiery breath. They must vanquish their new enemy, and Dean is starting to feel like this was not one of his best ideas.

''Go away! You're messing up the paint job! Damn, stinky, stupid animals.''

All of a sudden the screeching stops and the goats go eerily silent. A heavy presence settles over them, everything still in its place. Dean, who had closed his eyes for a moment, opens them tentatively, half expecting the world to have completely ceased moving around them. He glances at Sam, who looks just as alarmed, old habits and instincts having them both grab the nearest gun and get out of the car.

Dean steps out and immediately drops his weapon. It scatters to the asphalt with a loud noise and the goats look threateningly at him, willing him to make a sudden move and meet a brutal death. But Dean isn't looking at them. Angry goats and dented up cars are far, far from his mind, as his eyes settle on a familiar old trenchcoat and a mop of dark hair.

Castiel doesn't glance up as he stands there, stroking the head of a goat, which rubs against his leg in approval. Talking softly, he says hushed, soothing little things.

''Cas?''

Finally, the stupid bastard looks up, and his eyes are as blue as Dean remembers them, still scruffy and rumpled and that frown in its old familiar place. Only a lot deeper now and he flicks Dean a look of severe disapproval.

''You upset the goats, Dean.''

''Cas, you son of a bitch –'' He stalks over to him then, the goats still glaring at him but moving out of his way as Dean grabs the lapels of the coat in his fists, knuckles white with pressure as a million things thunder through his head. ''You stupid – we looked _everywhere, _man, I looked everywhere for you!''

''Yes, but Dean, you should apologize to the goats''

Dean shakes him only slightly, his voice rough and if he's screaming he doesn't pay it any notice. ''Screw the goats, man!''

Castiel looks honestly troubled. ''I don't think they'd appreciate that.''

Dean opens his mouth to yell, closes it again as he finds no words left to say, just stares at Castiel like the stupid son of a bitch he is. Castiel looks back, inquiring as if nothing bad ever happened, as if Dean hadn't spent who even _knows_ how long looking for his sorry ass and that his appearing out of nowhere, putting the stupid goats into total zen mode, isn't weird at all.

And that is the same moment the realization truly settles, washes over him like a spring creek after a hike through the woods, and Dean doesn't know if he wants to slap him or hug him and never let go. He opts for a compromise, reeling Castiel into his chest and grabbing tight, tight, tight, until the coat wrinkles and bunches under his hands and he can feel Castiel's heart against his chest, then slaps him in the back of his head.

''You god damn _bastard_'' Dean half-chuckles, half-croaks.

Castiel's body relaxes and tentative arms reach up to clutch around Dean's waist, soft and hesitant at first, then as tight as they possibly can without crushing something. Castiel sags against him, sighing contently.

''Hello, Dean'' He says, and his voice is still gruff and low like kindle and soot and thunder.

''That's all you got to say to me? After I've looked god damn everywhere? That's it? _Hello_, Dean?''

''I'm sorry, were you expecting something else?''

Dean smiles because he sounds honestly apologetic, like he should have prepared better, like this was some damn party or business meeting and Castiel forgot the slides for the power point. Without really thinking much of it, Dean buries his face in the coat, inhales the dirt and the sweat and that one thing Dean never got around to figuring out, and maybe spent a little too much time thinking about.

''Where were you, man?''

Castiel shrugs as well as he can under the grip.

''I got sidetracked.''

Dean lets him go only so he can get enough room to look at thim, really look at him, hands still on his shoulders as if Castiel would suddenly vanish if he let go. He searches the face more because he actually _can_ than out of any real necessity, and Castiel looks back all honest and pouty and _Cas_.

''You got lost? Seriously?''

Castiel opens his mouth to answer but Dean shakes his head. ''Tell me about it in the car.''

Castiel looks at the goats one final time, gives the biggest one a nod – probably their leader, Dean thinks, and isn't as surprised as he thinks he should be that Castiel says goodbye to it – and follows Dean to the car. Sam is leaning against its side, arms crossed over the roof and smiling.

''Hey, Cas'' he says. Castiel nods. ''Good to have you back.''

''Hello, Sam.''

Castiel settles into the backseat, where he should have been all along, and the Winchesters get into the front. Once everyone has gotten inside, the goats give them one final look before dispersing, peacefully, lining up on each side of the road and just patiently watching.

''Those are some creepy ass goats'' Dean states in a half-whisper, just in case they should hear and go crazy again.

He turns the ignition and the car roars back to life. He pushes the pedal and off they go. Dean feels sort of like some sultan or whatnot with a giant entourage of mountain goats seeing them off. Once the goats are nothing but a white little mass far off in the rearview mirror, Castiel speaks up.

''Where are we going?''

Dean turns up the volume on the radio, flips around a bit to find a song to fit his current mood, and shrugs.

''Wherever, I guess''

Sam turns to smile at Castiel over his shoulder, asking questions about where he's been, what he's done, telling about their own adventures since arriving through the pearly gates and Dean listens to the sound of their voices melding into a soft background noise.

The leaded weight that had crawled under his skin, rattled inside his marrow and choked down his lungs, finally settles and lifts.


End file.
